


Thorn Grove and Cold Iron's Bite

by trashgoblinwizardparty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Camping, Dubious Consent, Fae & Fairies, Folklore, Golden Trio Friendship - Freeform, M/M, Monstrous Voldemort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Same-Age AU, Tom Riddle and Voldemort are not the same person (or are they??), the wild hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2020-10-19 13:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashgoblinwizardparty/pseuds/trashgoblinwizardparty
Summary: According to Ancient Wizarding Lore, wizards and witches are descended from the Fair Folk: the purer the bloodline, the closer they are to their supposed Otherworldly ancestors.Harry Potter has never really given the Lore much thought. His dad and other guardians, Sirius and Remus, certainly never put any stock in what Sirius always dismissed as “old witches’ tales,” and “excuses to be blood-purity bigots.”Now a recent graduate of Hogwarts, he and his friends are looking forward to the traditional “Post-Seventh-Year-Send-Off-Ritual” —a weekend of camping in the Forbidden Forest.Unfortunately when three Slytherins—Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, and Tom Riddle—crash into Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s campsite—a campsite they foolishly made in a grove of Hawthorn trees—they discover the Lore is definitely real.Now, with the Wild Hunt after them, the six of them must work together to escape the Other Realm and get back to Hogwarts. But former Head Boy Tom Riddle is more than he appears.





	1. A Sunlit Clearing

**Author's Note:**

> alternate summary: 
> 
> _Harry Potter thought he and his friends were going to have a fun time camping out in the Forbidden Forest after they graduated. But they were wrong. _
> 
> _Dead wrong. _
> 
> _*guitar riff* _
> 
> but seriously though, here's this year's big bang fic...or the start of it, at least. i seem to have a WIP-addiction...
> 
> (next up: harry potter and the lord of winter. i swear i'm working on it!) 
> 
> big thanks to dory, cy, and red for betaing and general cheerleading ♥♥♥

* * *

The summer after seventh year found Harry Potter at the Burrow, his old school bag now full of clothes, snacks, and a bottle of Ogden’s Best Firewhiskey that Sirius had slipped him while his dad and Remus weren’t looking. The light of mid-afternoon poured in through the wobbly glass of the living room window and spilled across the wooden floor. Motes of dust danced in the sunbeam. Try as she might, Mrs Weasley couldn’t seem to banish every speck of dust. Harry didn’t mind—it made the place feel homely and welcoming. Lived-in.

He settled back against the worn, squashy cushions of the sofa, completely content with life for the moment, and watched the twins regale Hermione with stories of their post-graduation camping-trip exploits.

“It’s tradition!” Fred was saying. “Everyone does it after they graduate!”

“I remember ours,” George said, his expression turning wistful. “We nearly burnt the woods down.”

“Yes, I remember that, too. It was in the _ Prophet _ ,” Hermione said, sorting through a pile of books.

“Our legacy,” Fred said, his eyes going misty.

“Remember how we tricked Angelina into summoning that Greater Salamander?” George said. “Good times.”

Hermione snorted. “So _ that’s _ how the fire started.”

Harry had just finished packing his things. Unlike Hermione, who evidently needed to bring half the library with her for a three-day camping trip, Harry packed relatively light. Even so, his pack was heavier than it looked; the Undetectable Expansion Charm made it easy to fit everything he needed, but he’d never quite got the hang of combining it with the Featherlight Charm.

He and Hermione had stayed at the Weasleys’ last night, though Hermione had been Apparating back and forth from her parents’ house to the Burrow trying to decide on what things she should bring, or if she was even going with at all. Harry, however, had been looking forward to this trip for months.

Just then, Ron burst into the living room, juggling a large, ungainly rucksack (probably containing their tent), his old school bag, and his Cleansweep Eleven. He had his wand clenched between his teeth.

“Y’know, most people use their wands to lift things like that,” Harry told him.

Ron shot him a rather venomous look and dumped everything on the sofa. “I tried that, but the charms on the tent must be interfering with the spell,” he muttered, pulling his wand from his mouth and wiping the spit off on his trouser leg.

Hermione made a disgusted sound. “Really, Ronald!”

“So have you decided to come with?” Harry asked Hermione before Ron could open his mouth, heading off a potential row.

Hermione looked over at her stacks of books and parchment and let out a gusty sigh. “I suppose.”

“Excellent!”

“I still think the time after graduation should be spent working towards building our careers. I can’t believe wizards don’t go to university! We’re expected to get jobs right out of Hogwarts?”

“Come on, Hermione, this is our last chance to just fuck around before we have to be real adults!” Ron protested.

“It’ll be fun! Like when we went to the Quidditch World Cup a few years ago!” Harry said.

“That was so crowded! And so loud! I could hardly get any studying done.”

“It was summer, you shouldn’t have been studying at all! Honestly, Hermione,” Ron said. “And anyway, you’ll never have homework again!”

That had the opposite effect on Hermione. Instead of relieved, she just looked horrified.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go…”

“No, no, you’ve already packed half your library, you might as well come with,” Ron said.

Hermione chewed her lip in thought. “I’m just not much for the outdoors. And it’s the Forbidden Forest...I don’t know.”

“That’s why you should come with us! You know exactly how dangerous things are in there and you can keep Harry and me from...I dunno, accidentally eating poison berries or something,” Ron said.

“We’re counting on you to keep our younger brother and his best mate alive, Hermione,” George said, slinging an arm over her shoulder. He had an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face and Hermione’s cheeks went pink.

“Alright, fine!”

“That’s the spirit! I can rest easy knowing Ickle Ronniekins is in your capable hands,” Fred said, wriggling his arm around Hermione’s shoulder from the other side, essentially trapping her between him and George.

Her face went even redder at that and Harry had to hide a smirk.

Harry and the rest were about to set out on their Ritual Weekend; a tradition that started a thousand years ago. Students of the recently-graduated class gathered together for one last time for three days of “roughing it” in the Forbidden Forest.

Students of all houses would form groups. There were no points, no rules (other than “don’t try to kill each other”), and no professors. Supposedly this would encourage “teamwork, friendship, and inter-house unity.” What it usually encouraged was a lot of burning things in a bonfire, endless prank wars, and drinking of Firewhiskey.

Harry couldn’t wait.

He’d heard all about it from Dad, Sirius, and Remus. How it was one of the highlights of their time at Hogwarts. How Dad had finally convinced Mum to agree to a date. Mostly he just liked hearing Dad talk about Mum, since Harry didn’t remember her, much.

Finally, everything was packed and ready to go. Hermione helped Ron wrangle the bag with the tent into submission and then the three of them set out to the edge of the Weasleys’ garden, where they had a clear shot to Apparate to the meadow just outside of Hogsmeade.

It was four p.m. on Friday, July 17th. The sky was a clear, summery blue with gauzy white clouds drifting lazily across it. It had been overcast in Ottery St. Catchpole, but here the sun blazed its glory. It was warm, too. Harry felt sweat beginning to bead on the back of his neck and roll down his spine.

Hermione had landed just ahead and slightly to the left, while Ron wound up about three yards away. The distinctive CRACK of Apparation echoed across the meadow as more newly-made Hogwarts alumni trickled in.

Lavender Brown, Parvati and Padma Patil appeared together several feet away. Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe were next, landing in a knot some yards distant, followed in quick succession by Neville Longbottom—who apparently came alone—Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Ernie Macmillian.

Blaise Zabini strolled toward Malfoy and the other Slytherins from the direction of the Three Broomsticks. He must’ve already been waiting for a while.

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan appeared together some ways off, but even from this distance Harry could tell they were holding hands.

Everyone sort of gravitated together, forming a rough circle in the meadow.

“Is that everyone?” Hermione said, slipping into Head Girl mode and scanning the assembled crowd.

“Not quite,” came a smooth voice from almost directly behind Harry.

Hermione’s face lit up while Harry and Ron exchanged disgusted expressions. Unfortunately, Harry knew that voice very well.

“Hello, Tom,” Hermione said, warmly.

Tom Riddle, Slytherin Prefect, Head Boy, and all-around prat strolled over to take his place next to Hermione. Which, unfortunately, happened to be right beside Harry. Harry reluctantly scooted over to make room, and Riddle flashed a disgustingly dazzling smile at him.

Unwelcome heat crawled up Harry’s neck and he averted his gaze quickly, deciding the trampled grass was far more interesting than Riddle’s perfect teeth and dimples.

Harry and Ron had always despised Riddle, Malfoy, and the other Slytherins ever since first year. But this...whatever it was that Harry had started feeling around Tom Fucking Riddle was recent. It didn’t help that Hermione was on friendly terms with Riddle, saying that he wasn’t “as bad” as the rest of the Slytherins, especially in regard to blood purity.

Hermione, while very clever, had a bit of a blind spot for a pretty face. By the time they’d reached third year, Riddle had charmed almost the entire school. Harry, however, didn’t buy his act for a second.

He glanced up, briefly, and caught a glimpse of Riddle’s profile gilded by the setting sun, and looked away again, cursing his pounding heart and the fluttery feeling in his stomach. He refused to think he’d been caught in Riddle’s net of charm. He refused. For one thing, Ron would never ever let him live it down. Harry would have to fake his own death and start a new life in Argentina as an alpaca farmer.

Luckily, after this weekend he’d never have to see Riddle or his stupid pretty smile ever again. 

  


* * *

“Harry! Watch out for the Singing Nettles!” Hermione called.

Harry pivoted in place and dropped the bag with the tent down in the middle of the path. Ron was right, it was resistant to Levitation Charms for some reason.

“Singing Nettles? Don’t you mean Stinging Nettles?” he asked, glancing at the cluster of plants.

“No, I do mean ‘Singing Nettles.’”

Just then, the breeze picked up, flowing through the trees and sending their leaves rattling. The nettles, now gently swaying, produced a sound not unlike a Heavenly Choir.

“Oh,” was all Harry said.

“Honestly, we covered Singing Nettles in third year Herbology!”

“You can’t expect us to remember third year Herbology. That was ages ago,” Ron said, setting his own pack down and stretching.

“So where should we set up?” Harry asked, deciding to head off another bickering session between his two best friends.

“I dunno, but we’d better find a place soon, or all the good spots will be taken,” Ron said.

“What ‘good spots?’” Hermione snapped. Her hair was coming loose from her bun and curling wildly all over from the heat. An errant strand stuck to the side of her face.

They’d been walking for the better part of an hour, and while it was not as hot in the shade of the Forest, the humidity more than made up for it, defeating even the best of Hermione’s self-cooling charms.

Finally, they found a spot that Harry thought looked promising. Harry glimpsed a small, sunlit clearing through the gnarled branches of thorny brush.

“What about this place?” he called, gesturing to the small opening in the thorns.

“Uh, mate, that’s a bush,” Ron said.

“I meant beyond the bush, you berk.”

Hermione came up to him and inspected it dubiously. “I’m not sure...it doesn’t look easy to get into.”

Harry rolled his eyes and gestured with his wand, muttering a spell Remus had taught him when he was thirteen. The thorny branches peeled backwards and arched neatly overhead, forming a tunnel. “Too bad we don’t have a way of getting through at all. It’s a shame we’re not wizards or anything.”

Hermione gave him a look that could best be described as “withering,” and gestured the bag with the tent through with her wand. The tent bag weakly flopped over a couple of times but eventually scooted itself through the tunnel, and Hermione flounced after, as if to prove a point.

Harry followed, ducking low so the thorns couldn’t catch on his hair. In the slanting, golden light of late afternoon, the small clearing looked almost like something out of a dream. Motes of pollen danced on the breeze, and even the biting gnats weren’t bad here. The thorny scrub trees encircled the entire clearing and above them, the great, gnarled oaks of the Forbidden Forest stretched skyward, with large boughs reaching towards the center of the opening, leaving only a small bit of sky. A large, moss-covered log could be seen above the soft, short grass. The place looked almost too idyllic to be real.

Harry was admiring the place and mentally patting himself on the back for finding such a good spot when he realized he and Hermione were the only ones in the clearing.

He looked back to find Ron, still on the other side of the thorny hedge, staring at the clearing in horror.

“Oi! Are you coming or what?” Harry called back.

“Uhhhh Harry? Hermione? I—I think you guys should come back right now,” Ron stammered. Even in the green gloom of the forest, Harry could see that he’d gone pale as a ghost.

“What? Why?” Harry looked around, almost expecting to see a swarm of Acromantulas descending upon him.

“That’s a Hawthorn grove,” Ron whispered, as if it explained everything.

“Oh, sure, _ now _ he cares about Herbology,” Hermione muttered.

“I dunno if I’d call this a ‘grove,’” Harry said, looking around. “Seems more like a hedge surrounding a clearing to me.”

“Maybe you should ask yourself why there’s a hedge surrounding a clearing in the middle of the Forbidden Forest,” Ron hissed, clutching his wand tightly and looking wildly around.

Harry shrugged. “It’s a magic forest?”

“We can’t camp here!” Ron’s voice was on the edge of cracking.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh really now, you don’t actually _ believe _ that rubbish, do you?”

Harry looked from one friend to the other, completely lost.

The breeze picked up. Harry could hear a crescendo of Singing Nettles from somewhere in the distance.

“Er. What rubbish?” Harry asked.

Hermione turned to look at Harry now. “That wizarding kind is descended from—” she made a derisive noise— “fairies.”

Harry blinked. “Oh. That.”

Harry _ had _ heard that, in fact. But Dad and Sirius had always dismissed it as an old witches’ tale. He’d never really given it any thought.

“Don’t talk about _ them _ like that!” Ron squeaked.

“Ron, I really don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Hermione said. “In fact, this looks like the perfect place to set up camp.”

“Yeah, Dad and Sirius are purebloods and they always said that ‘descended from the Fair Folk’ thing was a load of crap,” Harry told him.

“My uncles Gideon and Fabian said they’ve seen things…” Ron trailed off.

“And didn’t you also say that Gideon and Fabian are basically the older versions of Fred and George?” Harry asked. “So maybe you should take everything they say with a grain of salt?”

“I wish we had some salt,” Ron muttered. But he grudgingly came through the tunnel anyway. “If we get kidnapped by the Good Neighbors I’m blaming you both.”

* * *


	2. Uninvited Guests

* * *

After finally wrangling the tent into place—it took all three of them, and eventually they had to do it mostly the Muggle way—Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down on some convenient flat rocks (“too convenient if you ask me,” Ron said) around their freshly-set up campsite. Several hours had passed and, since nothing otherworldly had befallen them, Ron had grudgingly conceded that it was a good campsite after all.   


They’d set wards to keep out the gnats and other small pests, and trusted that the thorny hedge around the clearing would keep anything bigger away. They were on the south side of the Forbidden Forest—it was much tamer here. The Centaurs stayed to the north and west, mostly, and they kept the worst of the dark creatures in check.   


Hermione cleared a spot free of grass and conjured a fire directly on the dirt. The spell didn’t need any kind of fuel to keep going, so they didn’t bother with sticks. It also only burnt what the caster intended it to, so they didn’t need to corral it in rocks, either. The bluebell-colored flames danced merrily in the deepening shadows and sent sparks of violet and gold soaring into the twilight sky.   


Ron had roped Hermione into a game of Wizard Chess, and was soundly defeating her.   


Harry lounged back, leaning against the mossy log, and gazed up at the sky. The world suddenly seemed so much bigger now that he was graduated. The possibilities were as limitless as the familiar stars spangling the night sky above his head.   


Too limitless.

Harry was suddenly caught in a tide of uncertainty. He didn’t know what to do with his future. He’s always had vague ideas of becoming an Auror like Dad and Sirius, but now that didn’t seem as exciting as it could be, since there weren’t a lot of Dark Wizards about anymore. Sirius, especially, often bemoaned the amount of paperwork far outweighed anything exciting happening.   


Harry chewed his lip, caught in a thought spiral that he didn’t really want to be in.   


Just then, a loud crash followed by the discordant jangle of Singing Nettles being stomped over jarred him out of his reverie. Ron and Hermione looked up from their game, startled. Harry had his wand in his hand before he even thought about it.   


Ron and Hermione scrambled for their wands. The three of them stood in a tight circle, guarding each other’s backs, wands trained on the thorny bushes at the edge of their campsite.   


There was another loud crash, and the sound of branches snapping.   


“Merlin’s saggy bollocks!”   


That voice was, unfortunately, very familiar.   


Harry rolled his eyes, but did not lower his wand as Draco Malfoy crashed through the hedge into their campsite, followed by Pansy Parkinson.   


They were both looking rather worse for the wear—Malfoy’s perfect hair was disheveled and had bits of twig stuck in it and Parkinson wasn’t any better. They were both scratched up and smudged with dirt. Malfoy’s robes were spattered with mud and dripping—he looked like he’d taken a swim in a mud puddle.   


There was a long, awkward moment where the Gryffindors and the Slytherins stared at each other.   


“What the hell happened to you two?” Ron asked, breaking the silence.   


“Centaurs! They went mad and tried to shoot us! With arrows!” Parkinson huffed, clutching her side.   


“You probably deserved it,” Ron muttered, quiet enough that it didn’t carry across the clearing, but Hermione swatted at him anyway.   


“Are you...hurt...?” Hermione tried.   


“We don’t need healing from _ you, _ ” Malfoy sneered, drawing himself up.   


When he moved his shoes made a squelching sound.   


“Did you have a nice swim?” Harry said, unable to hide a smirk.   


“Shut up, Potter,” Malfoy shot back, but there was no venom in it.   


“I don’t hear hoofbeats anymore. I think we can get out of here,” Parkinson said to Malfoy.   


“That’s a good idea—AUUGH!” Malfoy leapt back, and stumbled over his own sodden cloak.   


Parkinson shrieked as the thorny branches of the hedge a few yards away wove themselves into a neat arch. In a flash, Harry had his wand trained on the opening. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ron and Hermione do the same. Parkinson and Malfoy, on the other hand, had scrambled backwards, further into their campsite, taking refuge behind the tent.   


A shadow moved, swift and sinuous, in the dimness just outside the violet ring of firelight. Harry almost thought he could see red glints where its eyes should be.   


Harry cleared his throat, swallowing down his apprehension, and projected his voice as best he could, trying to imitate Remus (who, despite not being an Auror himself, definitely had the best “Auror Voice” of his three guardians). “Who’s there? Show yourself!”   


A tall figure resolved itself out of the shadows, stepping into the circle of light. Unearthly bluebell-colored light glinted off smooth, elegantly styled black hair and illuminated high cheekbones.   


It was Tom Riddle.   


Hermione lowered her wand. “Tom!” she called, sounding inordinately relieved.   


Harry didn’t lower his wand, and he noticed Ron hadn’t either.   


“I heard shouting. Is everyone alright?” Riddle asked, his smooth tenor carrying across the clearing.   


Harry cleared his throat. “It’s fine, we’re fine, everything’s fi—”

“Oh Tom, it was awful! The Centaurs! They tried to shoot Draco and me!” Parkinson stumbled out from behind the tent, pulling Malfoy along with her. She looked pathetically grateful to see Riddle, and practically threw herself at him. A feeling Harry didn’t want to examine too closely coiled tight behind his ribcage.   


“That’s...unusual. They don’t normally bother students, and they were informed that we’d be in the Forest tonight,” Riddle said.   


As he strolled closer to the fire, the bluebell light cast his features in an unearthly glow. Riddle didn't sound worried or surprised at the news his housemates had been attacked by Centaurs, only thoughtful.   


“We should see if everyone else is alright,” Hermione said, taking up the mantle of Head Girl once again.   


Malfoy sneered and Parkinson rolled her eyes theatrically. Riddle’s face was carefully impassive.   


“We don’t need—” Parkinson started.   


“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Riddle interrupted. “I passed by several other campsites on my way here and the only trouble I noticed were people drinking their Firewhiskey too quickly.”   


Harry scanned Riddle’s face, searching for evidence of lying, but Riddle was as unreadable as ever. He caught Harry’s eye and offered a faint smile. Harry averted his gaze quickly.   


There was a long moment where no one said anything. The fire popped, sending a wave of pink and gold sparks into the sky.   


“Right. Well, we’ll just be going, then,” Malfoy said, grasping Parkinson by the arm and steering her away from Riddle.   


“You should stay here!”   


Hermione’s voice rang out across the clearing. Ron and Harry whipped around to look at her. Ron’s mouth hung open in shock, and Harry was fairly sure he looked the same. Hermione, however, only had that look of determination she got when she was sure of something.   


“What? Why should they stay here?” Harry blurted.   


“We don’t want—” Malfoy started.

“You don’t know why the Centaurs attacked, and we’re surrounded by a tall hedge. It’s only sensible.”   


“That’s…” Harry trailed off, not really able to offer a counter argument other than ‘we don’t like them.’   


“That’s mental!” Ron finished. Good old Ron, always speaking his mind. Harry would’ve kissed him if he’d felt so inclined. (He didn’t.)   


“We don’t want to stay here with  _ you _ ,” Parkinson snarled.   


“Actually, I think it’s a good idea,” Riddle said. He held up his hand to forestall any arguments from Malfoy and Parkinson. “What exactly did you do to make them angry?”   


Malfoy’s face twisted in frustration. “I don’t know! They just...went mad and started firing at us! We weren’t anywhere near their territory.”   


“Apparating in this forest is always a bad idea...even experienced wizards can get splinched, because there’s so much magical interference,” Riddle said, as if to himself. “The best thing to do is stay here for the night. There’s strength in numbers; I’ll stay, too.”   


“What!”

Harry and Ron had both shouted at the same time, disturbing an owl, who hooted reproachfully and flew off from a nearby tree as they traded horrified looks.   


Their fun night had just taken a turn for the worse. 

* * *

Moonrise found the six of them sitting around the purple fire. Riddle had conjured a camp chair to sit in, and he lounged on it like a king upon a throne. Parkinson and Malfoy had found some more flat rocks, after both trying and failing to conjure chairs themselves. The Slytherins were arrayed on one side of the fire, while the Gryffindors were on the other.   


The silence was thicker than black treacle and twice as heavy.   


Hermione had given up on trying to engage Parkinson and Malfoy, who only sneered at her. They could’ve left at any time, but whatever strange hold Tom Riddle had over them during their time at Hogwarts was still evident even after graduation. Both of them radiated sullen anger. Ron, too, viciously stabbed at the dirt with a bit of twig and occasionally sent glares across the fire.   


Riddle, on the other hand, appeared perfectly content and didn’t seem to notice the tense atmosphere.   


All in all, this was not how Harry envisioned his last hurrah before adulthood.

“Well, I think I’ll turn in for the night,” Hermione said, standing up and stretching.   


She stopped, and fidgeted a little. “I don’t suppose you have your own tent?” she asked tentatively, addressing Malfoy, Parkinson, and Riddle.   


Malfoy, who was directing a stream of hot air from his wand over his sodden cloak, looked up at Parkinson. Horror dawned on both of their faces.

“We might’ve...lost our tent,” Malfoy began.

“No,  _ you _ lost our tent,” Parkinson snapped. “You were the one in charge of the tent,  _ Draco _ !”   


“I was more concerned with not getting shot full of arrows, _ Pansy _ .”   


Harry and Ron looked up at Hermione, silently beseeching her to not say what they both knew she was probably going to say. Hermione chewed her lip, her brow creased in indecision.   


“You could...stay in ours? We have more than enough room, since it’s larger on the inside,” Hermione offered.   


Harry groaned inwardly.   


Riddle, who had been silent until now, spoke up before anyone could protest. “That sounds lovely, Hermione.”   


Harry shot a furtive glare at Riddle, who, in his conjured chair, towered over everyone seated on rocks. Riddle crossed his leg with his ankle resting upon his knee, with his elbows propped on the chair’s arms and had his fingers tented thoughtfully in front of his face. For a moment, the firelight glinted in his dark eyes, making them seem as though they glowed red. Harry blinked a few times, to clear his vision. Surely it was a trick of the light.   


Malfoy and Parkinson looked as though they’d rather be shot at by rogue Centaurs than have to share a space with Gryffindors, but said nothing in protest after Riddle had spoken. Both of them scowled helplessly into the fire.   


“Might as well get this night over with. The sooner we fall asleep the sooner morning will come,” Ron grumbled, standing up as well.   


Hermione wordlessly extinguished the fire, plunging the campsite into darkness. The sudden shift was disorienting, and Harry shook his head to clear it.   


The light of the waning-crescent moon silvered the edges of everything. In the dim light, Harry saw Riddle glance down at Malfoy and Parkinson. He had the sense that some kind of wordless exchange passed between them, and both of them reluctantly stood.   


The pale moonlight caught the sharp planes of Riddle’s face and glinted off his perfect hair. Harry had to avert his eyes again.   


He stood and followed the rest of them into the tent, leaving Riddle seated outside. 

* * *

True to most wizarding spaces, the inside of the tent was much bigger than the outside, and the interior didn’t look like a tent as much as it did a single-story flat. There were three bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen and a common area filled with fat, squashy chairs. Mr Weasley had bought it with some of his winnings from the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw in the summer after Ron and Harry’s second year. It had comfortably housed the entire Weasley family plus Harry and Hermione when they’d gone to the Quidditch World Cup the following summer.   


Though, sharing the space with people you liked was much different than sharing space with people you didn’t.   


Parkinson and Malfoy stood in the foyer, staring around in open disgust.   


“ _ Our _ tent had a fireplace and a marble staircase that lead up to the bedrooms,” Malfoy sniffed.   


“And it had a wine cellar,” Parkinson added, mournfully.   


“Well I’m sure the Centaurs will enjoy it, then,” Harry said vindictively. “But you might as well make yourselves comfortable now because you’re getting booted out first thing in the morning.”   


“Pansy, I’ll show you to our room,” Hermione said, smiling at her in a distinctively strained way.   


“What do you mean,  _ ‘our room’ _ ? You don’t think I’m actually going to stay with  _ you _ , do you Granger? I refuse to share with a mudblood,” Parkinson spat.   


Hermione’s eyes went flat and dangerous. “Well, you can sleep on the floor in here, then.”   


Parkinson’s expression warred between disgust and resignation as she seemed to consider her options. After a long pause that seemed to stretch forever she said: “Fine. I’ll stay in the room, but I get to choose the bed!”

Ron sidled over to Hermione. “I don’t trust her! What if she hexes you in your sleep?” he muttered in an undertone.   


“I’d like to see her try,” Hermione said sweetly, not looking away from Parkinson and Malfoy.

“There are three rooms and six of us. I’m sure we can sort something out,” Riddle said from where he was lounging against the door frame at the threshold.   


Harry hadn’t even heard the tent door open.   


“How d’you know there are three bedrooms?” Ron snapped at him, instantly suspicious.   


Riddle raised a dark eyebrow and sauntered into the foyer, coming to a stop too close to Harry for Harry’s own comfort. “I can see four doorways, and one of them must be the bathroom.”   


“Hang on, you weren’t with Malfoy and Parkinson before. You showed up later and didn’t know what had happened to them. Don’t you have your own tent?” Harry asked. “Why don’t they just stay with you?”   


Riddle smiled, and Harry’s traitorous heart sped up.   


“I don’t have my own tent, I’m afraid,” Riddle said. “I was confident I’d be able to figure something out before nightfall, though.”   


Then he winked. At Harry.   


And Harry horribly, damningly, blushed.   


“And so I have,” Riddle said, smirking. 

* * *


	3. Beyond Wide World's End

* * *

In the end it was decided (with quite a bit of protest) that Parkinson would share a room with Malfoy while Hermione stayed with Ron and Riddle stayed with Harry.   


Originally, it was to be Hermione and Parkinson in one room, Ron and Harry in the next, and Riddle and Malfoy in the last. Riddle had smiled politely but Malfoy had gone even paler than usual. At that moment, Parkinson had reached for Malfoy’s hand and blurted, “We’re together. Romantically. We’re going to stay in the same room.”   


Harry and Ron exchanged a glance. Ron looked like he was torn between laughter and revulsion and Harry was sure he wore the same expression.   


Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, have it your own way.” She turned to Harry and Ron. “I suppose you two will be wanting to share a—”   


“No!” Ron cut in. “And make you share a room with  _ him _ ?” here, Ron gestured to Riddle, whose expression had gone carefully neutral. “What kind of friend would I be? It’s not right, you sharing with a strange boy. If you’re going to stay with a boy it ought to be Harry or me.”   


“Ron!” Hermione hissed, moving closer. “Don’t be rude! He’s not strange! Just because you hate Slytherins doesn’t mean I do.”   


“I don’t trust him,” Ron muttered. “And he  _ is _ strange!”   


“He can stay with me.”   


Harry almost hadn’t realized he’d spoken until Ron and Hermione turned towards him with identical incredulous looks.   


“But you hate—” Ron began.   


“That sounds like the best possible solution,” Riddle cut in. Harry hadn’t even heard him come closer. “Let the lovebirds have their own rooms.”

“We’re not…” Ron trailed off, blushing as red as his hair. Hermione only looked a bit awkward.

“So, which horrid little cell is ours?” Malfoy drawled. His habitual sneer was back in place, but Harry could’ve sworn he seemed relieved.   


Harry had almost forgotten they were there.   


Sleeping arrangements sorted, they departed to their rooms. Harry surreptitiously kept glancing at Riddle. What had he been thinking, volunteering to share like that?   


The room, thankfully, was not overly small, and the two sets of camp bunk beds (Harry remembered this was where he, Ron, Fred, and George stayed during the World Cup), were still set up on opposite sides of the room.   


“Top or bottom?”   


Harry shook his head. “What?” he sputtered. Unwelcome heat crawled up his neck for reasons he didn’t want to think about.   


Riddle was standing in the middle of the room, looking at him expectantly. “Top bunk or bottom bunk?”   


“There are four beds in here. It doesn’t matter, does it?”   


Riddle was staring at him, his eyes intense and dark. The room suddenly felt far too small.   


“I prefer top, myself,” Riddle said, the left corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk.   


Harry rather felt like he was being mocked. He flopped down onto the bottom bunk nearest the door and mentally berated himself for being embarrassed for no reason. Riddle always left him feeling wrong-footed, somehow. He scrubbed his hands over his face. What was supposed to be a fun adventure had turned into a nightmare.   


“I always suspected you’d choose bottom.”   


Riddle’s voice came from right above him and Harry startled. Riddle was leaning on the lower edge of the top bunk and smirking down at him.   


It took about ten more seconds for the implications of what Riddle had said to truly sink in. When it did, Harry went horribly redder and chucked a pillow at Riddle’s smug face. “Oh sod off!”   


The pillow bounced off a wordless Shield Charm. Riddle, still smirking, climbed into the bed right above Harry’s with more grace than should’ve been humanly possible.   


“Prat,” Harry muttered.   


He didn’t even bother undressing. He shifted around, trying to get comfortable, and punched the pillow a couple of times for good measure before pulling the sheet over himself. He took off his glasses and folded them carefully next to his pillow.   


He wondered if Riddle snored. Probably not, he thought. Everything else about the other boy was infuriatingly perfect.   


Harry lay awake, too on-edge to fall asleep, yet reluctant to move.

* * *

Harry must’ve fallen asleep after all, because he awoke all at once, heart pounding. He’d had the strangest dream: giant, monstrous creatures were playing Quidditch and he was the Snitch. The most monstrous one of all had reached a scaly, clawed hand out and plucked him out of the air.   


He sat up, confused about where he was for a moment. He felt around for his glasses only to discover they’d wound up beneath his pillow next to his wand. Dim moonlight spilled in through the window of the tent—patches of wall Charmed to show whatever was outside, not actual windows.   


Something had him on edge, but he wasn’t sure what. It was almost as if a noise had awoken him. He sat still, straining his ears for any sound. He couldn’t even hear Riddle on the top bunk.   


As silently as he could, he untangled himself from the sheet and crept out of bed.   


When he stood, he found that Riddle wasn’t there—the bed was neatly made as if it hadn’t been slept in at all. A glance over to the other set of bunks confirmed that Harry was completely alone in the room.   


Instead of relief at being free from Riddle, his anxiety only increased. The hair on his arms stood on end, and, even though the open window was only an illusion, Harry could’ve sworn he felt a breeze slithering over his skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake.   


The feeling that something was  _ wrong _ grew steadily as Harry padded on silent feet into the living room. Riddle wasn’t there, either. Silvery-pale light streamed in from the large Charmed window in the common area. The room Ron and Hermione shared still had its door closed, and the one Parkinson and Malfoy had claimed was the same. The door to the bathroom stood ajar, only darkness beyond.   


“Riddle?” Harry called, softly.   


Even though his voice was barely above a whisper, it still sounded terribly loud in the silence.   


He moved further into the living room, checking each of the chairs, just to be sure.   


“Riddle?” he tried again, a bit louder this time.   


There was still no answer.   


Riddle must’ve left, then.  _ Good riddance, _ Harry thought.   


But why had Riddle been so adamant about staying with them if he was just going to leave in the middle of the night?   


Harry made his way to the front door of the tent and slipped outside. Moonlight flooded the campsite, far brighter than it had been earlier in the evening. The air outside was cool and very still; there wasn’t even enough of a breeze to stir the leaves. Wand clutched tight in his hand, he examined the clearing in the light of the full moon.   


That brought Harry up short. Full moon? It had been a waning crescent earlier that evening, hadn’t it? The camping trip was always held the first weekend after July’s full moon, out of courtesy to the pack of Werewolves that sometimes lived in the forest. Harry squinted up at the sky. Yes, it was definitely full. Even stranger, none of the constellations looked familiar.   


He stepped further away from the door to get a better look at the sky, but caught sight of something on the ground out of the corner of his eye.   


Strange little pale globs of... _ something _ stood in a row right in front of the tent, crossing over where the fire had been. They were equally spaced apart, from what Harry could see. He moved closer; the moonlight was so bright he didn’t even need Lumos to inspect them.   


They were mushrooms. A whole line of mushrooms that curved away, disappearing around the side of the tent. Harry turned and, sure enough, more mushrooms marched in a line around the other side of the tent.   


They weren’t a species Harry recognized, but then again, Herbology hadn’t been his best subject. Something prodded at the back of his memory. Something about circles of mushrooms…

A few yards further beyond the first ring there was another, wider ring, and beyond that Harry could see moonlight glistening on yet another set of mushrooms. At least three concentric rings surrounded the campsite.   


He was just considering going back inside to wake Hermione up when he heard a twig snap behind him. He spun around, his wand clenched in his hand, only to find Riddle standing entirely too close.   


“I thought you’d left,” Harry told him, his wand trained at Riddle’s throat.   


“I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to take a walk.” Riddle said, casually. “Nice night, isn’t it?” he didn’t look very concerned about being held at wandpoint.   


Reluctantly, Harry lowered his wand.   


“Do you know anything about mushrooms?” Harry asked. It was not what he’d meant to say.   


Riddle raised a dark eyebrow. “Why?”   


Harry gestured to the ground with his wand, indicating where the fungi had sprouted. Riddle’s eyes tracked the line of them to where they disappeared around the side of the tent.   


“Hmm,” was all he said.   


“Didn’t you notice them when you went on your walk?” Harry demanded.   


“Can’t say that I did.”   


Something about the way he said that, combined with how the moonlight glinted in Riddle’s endlessly dark eyes filled Harry with unease. The sense of danger he’d had since he woke up hadn’t lessened.   


Harry was about to say something about being aware of your surroundings when a bright, brassy noise sounded in the distance, nearly making him jump out of his skin. It sounded like a horn.   


“What was that?” he asked instead.   


The horn sounded again. Riddle tilted his head in the direction of the noise.   


Then, he turned back with a distinctly bloodthirsty grin which sent a thrill of terror coursing down Harry’s spine.   


“I do believe that’s the Wild Hunt,” Riddle said, conversationally.   


“The what?” Harry whispered.   


Riddle’s eyes glittered with mirth. “Better start running,” he said. 

* * *


	4. Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it for now! the next chapter will be coming along...at some point...

* * *

The horn blared again, closer this time. The sound of it sent a primal, animal terror coursing along Harry’s every nerve. _ A predator stalked ever nearer, and he was the prey _ , it told him. The urge to run was almost overpowering. If he listened closely, he could hear the pounding of hooves and the barking of dogs, all in time with his own rapid heartbeat.

“What’s going on?” Hermione emerged from the tent, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her bushy hair was in disarray, and a robe had been hastily thrown over the old t-shirt and sweatpants she wore as pyjamas.

Ron appeared behind her, in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, looking far more alert and far more terrified. He stopped short right next to Harry, his eyes glued to the ring of mushrooms surrounding them.

“Fuck! I knew we shouldn’t have camped here! Didn’t I tell you we shouldn’t have camped here?” Ron’s voice went higher with every word.

“Calm down, Ron,” Hermione said, raking a hand through her tangled mane. “I’m sure this is just somebody’s idea of a joke.”

“It’s no joke, Granger,” Malfoy said, joining them. “It’s the Wild Hunt.”

The moonlight leached the color out of everything, and Malfoy, who was already pale normally, looked as bleached-white as a ghost. Parkinson was right near him, her eyes glittering with terror. They both were still in their clothes.

“Listen, there’s no such thing as the Wild Hunt,” Hermione snapped. But in the moonlight, in the middle of a thorn grove and mushroom circles, she didn’t sound so sure.

The horn sounded again, as if to prove her wrong, and the barking of dogs could be heard clearly.

She turned to Riddle. “Tom, come on, this is obviously not really the Wild Hunt?” There was a sharp edge to her voice, almost pleading.

“Oh, it’s very real,” Riddle said. His face had gone impassive again, but his dark eyes shone with something unidentifiable.

The crash of underbrush and the sound of hoofbeats getting ever closer, with hounds howling like they’d picked up a scent was what finally galvanized Harry into action.

“We have to go. Right now!” Harry grabbed at Hermione’s wrist and pulled her along.

“I don’t—” But her thought was cut off by thunderous crashing as the Hunt reached the thorn hedge.

Malfoy and Parkinson were already halfway across the clearing. Ron, who’d gone white as milk, snatched Hermione’s other hand. “Do you have your wand?” he asked, urgency making his voice squeak.

“Yes but…” Hermione looked back towards the tent, helplessly.

“Time’s up,” Riddle said. “Either you run or you get caught right here.”

Even in the pale moonlight, Harry could see high points of color staining Riddle’s cheeks. His hair was coming free from its usual perfectly-coiffed look, giving him an air of wildness. Gone was his usual reserved nonchalance. He looked more alive now than Harry had ever seen him. _ What is _ wrong _ with him? _Harry wondered.

But there was no time to ponder it.

They ran.

Across the clearing, following the route Malfoy and Parkinson took, leaping over mushroom rings. Fairy rings, people called them. _ Fairy rings. _ Why had he not listened to Ron? Harry counted seven fairy rings before they reached the thorn hedge.

Malfoy or Parkinson must’ve cut through it with a _ Reducto _ , since there was a smoking tunnel burned through the hedge. Thorny tendrils reached out as they ran through it, catching at their clothes and hair. The opening at the other end of the tunnel was shrinking, closing in on itself.

There seemed to be far more hedge now than there had been this afternoon, and Harry had a wild, horrid vision of them being trapped forever in the thorns. Riddle made a slicing motion with his wand, and branches recoiled. Harry could’ve sworn he heard the hedge screaming in pain.

Finally they broke free.

Riddle was just ahead, leaping with fluid grace over fallen trees and obstacles. Harry was torn between envy and admiration.

Still, they ran.

Harry thought he saw Malfoy’s pale head darting between the trees ahead of them, but he was too out of breath to call out. He cursed himself for leaving his Firebolt behind in the tent.

They scrambled up a rocky ledge and took shelter behind a large tree to catch their breath. Harry leaned against the bark, straining his ears to listen for sounds of pursuit. It was difficult to hear anything over his own heavy breathing and pounding heart.

Ron was doubled over, with his hands braced against his knees. Hermione had her arm propped against the tree next to Harry, clutching at her side. Riddle, naturally, didn’t even seem out of breath.

“Can you...hear...anything?” Ron panted.

Harry couldn’t hear anything. A glance told him Hermione and Riddle couldn’t either. He shifted and bits of bark slithered down the tree. The surface seemed unusually spongy for a tree trunk. Frowning, Harry scratched at the bark, and a whole section fell away, shimmering into dust.

Parkinson and Malfoy were huddled together in the hollow of the tree—Harry had accidentally disrupted their camouflage charm.

“Potter! Go away!” Parkinson hissed.

“I hope you don’t think you’d actually be safe from the Hunt under such a flimsy disguise?” Riddle said.

“Oh fuck off, Riddle!” Malfoy spat, surprising everyone (including, it seemed, himself).

There was a frozen moment where everyone was stunned into shocked silence.

“Oh Draco, that’s no way to speak to your betters,” Riddle purred.

“I’m not afraid of you!” Malfoy shouted. Though contrary to what he said, he sounded very afraid indeed.

Harry exchanged puzzled glances with Ron and Hermione. It seemed the unified front Slytherin house always portrayed was nothing but a facade.

Riddle murmured something too low for Harry to hear, but the effect it had on Malfoy and Parkinson was stunning. In a flash, they both had their wands out, pointing directly at Riddle.

“Alright, alright, everyone calm down!” Hermione snapped. “We can figure this out if we just work together.”

Malfoy turned on her, snarling. “You don’t get it, do you, Granger?” He gestured at Riddle. “_ He’s _ the one who set us up!”

“What do you mean ‘set us up?’” Harry asked. “You mean that Riddle, what, called the Wild Hunt down on us? The Wild Hunt that’s only supposed to be a legend?”

“It’s clearly not a legend, Potter,” Parkinson snapped.

As if to punctuate that statement, the hunting horn sounded in the distance.

Riddle grinned, a manic light shining in his eyes. “Time to go again.”

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. “What is your fucking problem?” he demanded.

Riddle turned to him. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Obvious that you’re completely mad? Yeah it is,” Ron said. “I’ve been saying that for years.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Tom, what do you know?”

The moment stretched on for an eternity.

“The Lore is real,” Riddle said, finally.

Harry couldn’t help but notice how he looked at that moment: half in shadow with the light of the full moon filtering down between the leaves, silvering the side of his face. Whatever else was going on, it was obvious Riddle was having the time of his life.

The horn sounded again, much closer this time. The sound sent a thrill of terror surging along Harry’s every nerve. He wasn’t the only one affected. Parkinson and Malfoy were out of their hiding spot before anyone could say anything, wild-eyed and clutching their wands tightly. Ron had gone ghostly pale, his eyes wide and terrified in the dark. Even Hermione looked frightened.

“It’s just a prank,” Hermione whispered, but her voice wavered, as if she were trying to convince herself.

“You can stay here and see if it’s just a prank, then,” Parkinson snapped. “I’m not taking that chance!” And with that, she took off again, with Malfoy right behind.

Harry saw flashes of light as they cut their way through the undergrowth.

Riddle watched them go with a smirk on his face. “They won’t get very far going that way,” he said. Then he turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “I don’t recommend sticking around to see if it is a prank, you know. You won’t like what happens if they catch you.”

The wind picked up, and Harry could hear a distant chorus of Singing Nettles. “So what happens if they do catch us?” he demanded of Riddle.

But Riddle only smiled, and shrugged slightly, spreading his hands wide. “No one who’s been caught has ever returned. Maybe some are killed. Maybe some are forced to join the Hunt. Either way, there’s no telling for sure...except by experiencing it firsthand, of course.”

He didn’t look horrified, like Harry would have thought. He seemed almost _ excited _ by the prospect.

“So, what? You _ want _ them to catch you or something? I knew you were bonkers but I didn’t know you had a death wish, Riddle,” Ron spat.

“Oh, _ I’m _ not in any danger from the Hunt,” Riddle said.

“What?” Ron shouted. “How are you so sure you’re not?”

“Then why are you running from them?” Harry demanded, thrusting his wand in a white-knuckled grip right at Riddle’s throat.

Riddle smiled again, infuriatingly calm for someone at wandpoint, and let his gaze wander over Harry’s face. Harry felt it almost like a physical sensation, and unwelcome heat crawled up his neck.

Riddle’s black eyes locked on Harry’s and he was caught, unable to look away. The rest of the world seemed to recede into the distance. There was only the sound of drums, or maybe hoofbeats, or possibly Harry’s own heart galloping in his chest.

Then Riddle broke eye contact, turning his gaze to something beyond Harry’s shoulder.

Harry blinked, disoriented. “Wha—” he began.

But he was cut off by Hermione’s scream and Ron’s shout.

Harry whipped around.

A great black dog was standing several yards away, staring at them with baleful yellow eyes. The blood froze in Harry’s veins. He felt like a rabbit staring down a wolf. _ It looks a bit like Sirius’ Animagus form, but bigger and wilder _, Harry thought, in the moment before the white noise of panic set in.

The sound of a cracking branch to Harry’s left made them all turn as one. Another dog, this one even larger than the first, stalked towards them, radiating malice. Its fangs were bared in a horrifying grimace, and frothy white foam dripped from its mouth.

“Fuck,” Ron whimpered as a third dog came in from their other side.

They were surrounded.

* * *


	5. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <s>right so i'm just cranking this and the next chapter out so i can use this fic for red's wip big bang! which means, as i am ever a walking disaster, that this one and the next are not betaed. i'll have them betaed and/or do another readthrough/edit tomorrow (probably) so uh. don't get too attached to some of the wording? yeah. </s> **EDIT: betaed by the lovely cybrid ♥**
> 
> there's a chapter after this little interlude so click "next chapter" too!

The Forbidden Forest was old; far, far older than even Wizardkind knew. What existed of it in the Mortal Realm was but a shadow of its true glory. It was said the trees here in the Other Realm were so tall they scraped the ceiling of Heaven, while their roots reached into the deepest pits of Hell. 

The Other Realm was not bound by the same laws that governed the Mortal Realm. Here, time eddied and swirled, wild magic ran rampant, and reality warped at random or was bent by the whims of the Elder Ones. 

In a quiet corner of the Forest, in a gentle, sunlit glade right at the border where Summer met Autumn, a young woman stood at the edge of a clear spring. Her hair was long and red and brighter than fire—a shade not found naturally in Mortals. It was not the red of fall leaves, but the vibrant ruby of blooming roses. It cascaded over her shoulders and fell in long sheets to the ground. Her dress was several shades of green that recalled moss growing on ancient stones and leaves backlit by the midsummer sun. The tiny roses and lavender flowers that were embroidered upon her skirt were real, living blooms; perfect and undying. 

Lily, formerly Potter, and before that Evans, but now just Lily of the Summerlands, observed the water of the Oracle Spring intently. It glimmered and rippled, resistant at first to her magic, being as it was at the very edge of her Realm, but in the end she bent it to her will. 

Leaves from the Autumnlands side fell into the crystal-clear water, obscuring the image, and she waved a hand to vanish them. 

The water of the Spring showed a group of Mortal children—teenagers, really, not much younger than she had been when she left the Mortal Realm behind—gathered around a blue campfire. 

There was one with bushy brown hair that she recognized as another Muggle-born immediately. They always had a particular aura of “newness” about them. One with ginger hair and more freckles than not peppering his skin—very likely one of the Weasleys; one with brown hair and what seemed like a perpetual sneer upon her face; and another that was unmistakably a Malfoy, with his pale hair and eyes. 

But her own gaze was pulled magnetically to the one with messy black hair and round glasses. The light of the campfire made it hard to see, but she knew those glasses hid emerald-green eyes. People always said Harry took after James, but he had his mother’s eyes. Lily smiled, albeit sadly. She wanted to reach out, to hug him one more time. Those thoughts always led to even more dangerous territory. She missed James and Sirius and Remus like a physical ache. 

Watching them raise Harry and try to fill in the gap she’d left when she was called back to her homeland was like a thousand needles stabbing her heart.

She had so often wanted to communicate with them, to say that she wasn’t dead, and that all she wanted was to return, but it was impossible...

No, better to let them think she was truly dead. Knowing she was alive and forever separated from them would be worse. 

But still...she _ wanted _ …

Lily blinked back the threatening tears and returned her attention to the Spring. 

The last Mortal, a tall, handsome young man with black hair and eyes, had an aura so dark he could only be a descendant of the Winter Court. He was Mortal—definitely a Mortal wizard—but something was...off. The whole shape of him was familiar, though she wasn’t sure how. 

As she watched, he looked up, gazing around as if he’d noticed something. The water of the Spring rippled again, and again, Lily had to fight it. 

When the scene cleared, most of the Mortals had gone into the tent, leaving the last one alone. 

With a shock, she realized he was staring directly at her. As if he could feel her watching him through the Spring. 

It couldn’t be…

Lily instinctively backed up a pace, out of direct sight of the Spring. 

When she returned, a skin of crystal-clear ice glazed the surface of the water, and beneath was only the bottom of the pool. 


	6. The Wild Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <s>like i said with chapter 5: this is UNBETAED so read at your own risk! i will be rereading/possibly re-writing this and the previous chapter in the next few days! </s>
> 
> <s>it's uh. well it's a work in progress, amirite?</s> **EDIT: betaed by my lovely wife cy ♥**

The dogs were great beasts—rough and wild with shaggy black fur and eyes that ranged from hot crimson to sulfur-yellow to a poisonous, acid green. There were six surrounding them, and even more could be heard snuffling and pacing in the undergrowth beyond. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Riddle stood back-to-back in a tight circle with their wands pointed at the dogs.

Harry glanced over at Riddle, who was wearing a half-smirk and his wand held lazily. Harry’s own knuckles were white as he gripped his wand, though his hand was steady. The dogs didn’t come any closer, seemingly content to keep their quarry contained. 

The horn sounded again, almost right on top of them, and this time the hoof beats of many horses were now very clear, snapping branches and pounding earth. Harry swallowed hard, the beaded sweat from all his running cooled in the night air and chilled him to the bone. He had his wand trained on the Hound right in front of him, scanning the underbrush for any movement beyond it. 

Now, raucous laughter and merry chattering could be heard all around them, but Harry, even straining his eyes, even in the unnaturally bright moonlight, could not see anything. 

“Well, well! Looks like we’ve caught ourselves some lovely little rabbits!” 

Harry twisted around. The speaker emerged from the shadow of the large tree with the hollow. 

They were astride a large, skeletal black horse with moon-white eyes. Leathery, bat-like wings folded against its flanks. It looked like how Harry had imagined a thestral to look, from what he’d seen illustrated of them in books. 

The rider, whoever they were, wore a long black cloak with the hood pulled up. The silvery glint of a mask caught in the moonlight. 

“Oh very good Barty, my dear! What a wonderful stew they’ll make!” This speaker had a higher voice, and Harry thought they might be a woman. Or whatever passed for a woman in... fairyland. 

She was sidesaddle atop another one of those nightmare horses. She, too, wore a long black cloak with the hood up and a silver mask. Fluttery black skirts swirled and writhed about her legs. 

A third rider emerged silently right next to the second one, this one much larger than the first two. Another one moved into the moonlight to Harry’s left, and then two more on his right, until they were completely surrounded by great black dogs and cloaked figures on nightmare horses. 

Harry frantically tried to think of a spell—any spell—that he could use against them, but all his seven years of magical training deserted him in the face of a fairy tale. 

Luckily, Hermione managed to gather her wits enough to do something. 

“Protego!” 

A shimmering shield sprung up around the four of them, encasing them in a protective bubble. 

The one riding side-saddle let out a cackle like frost climbing up a window pane and urged her steed forward. She reached toward the shield charm and ran razor-sharp fingernails across it. Deep scratches followed in the wake of her fingers, and when she flicked her fingertips against the shield, cracks crazed along the surface of the charm. 

The shield shattered. 

“You’re all so cute,” she cooed. “Oh! What red hair on this one! Almost looks like he could be one of the Summer King’s get!” 

Ron, bone-white under the freckles and wild-eyed, dodged her reaching talons as she tried to touch his hair. 

“This ‘un’s got the stink of a changeling,” the third rider—the largest of them—said, indicating Hermione. His voice was low and gravelly and it sounded as if he were speaking around something in his mouth. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione go ashen and shrink back as the hulking figure rode towards her. 

The first one urged his horse close and stopped right near them. He reached out and ruffled Riddle’s hair. “Excellent work, Tommy-boy. Master will be pleased.” 

Riddle’s expression was carefully neutral, but his knuckles whitened as he held his wand. 

There was a beat of silence. 

“You _ did _ set us up you _ bastard _!” Harry hissed at him.

Riddle spared a glance over his shoulder at Harry and had the audacity to wink while the Hunters roared with laughter. 

“He is the perfect lure, is he not?” the first man laughed. 

Harry’s face grew warm—not with embarrassment this time, only anger. But before he could turn his wand upon Riddle, a shriek from beyond the trees drew the attention of the Hunt. 

Cracking branches, thudding hooves, and the baying of hounds sounded just beyond the circle. The Hunters moved aside as yet another cloaked figure and three more massive black dogs came cantering in. 

Parkinson and Malfoy were both hog-tied and thrown over the back of the nightmare horse behind its rider like sacks of potatoes. They were both unceremoniously dumped to the ground at Harry’s feet, landing in the soft loam of the forest floor with identical grunts of pain. 

“Found s’more little bunnies!” the figure who brought them crowed. 

“Oho! What a feast of souls for our Master this night!” the one who had ruffled Riddle’s hair said. 

Harry didn’t even have the heart to feel smug at Malfoy and Parkinsons’ predicament. Hermione silently lowered her wand and cut through the ropes binding them with a whisper. 

They both clambered to their feet and snaked into the center of the tight circle Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Riddle made, as if using them as a human shield. 

The Hunters and Hounds flowed like a unified shadow into a ring around the six of them. 

“Oh Tommy, why don’t you leave your little friends and come play with us instead?” the female one cooed. 

“There’s been a change of plans, Bella,” Riddle said coolly, his voice steady.

“Oh really? What change?” that one—Bella—demanded. 

“I’m surprised Master didn’t inform you,” Riddle said, sounding genuinely surprised. “Perhaps you’ve fallen out of favor?” 

One of the other cloaked figures chuckled behind their mask. 

Bella turned upon them. “Be silent, Abraxas,” she snarled. 

“And you, you ungrateful little whelp,” she hissed, turning back to Riddle. “We shall see what Master says when he arrives!” 

Riddle made a show of looking around. “Where is he, anyway?” 

“He...he’ll be along presently!” But Bella didn’t sound so sure. 

“Come on, let’s just take them,” the largest Hunter said. “I’m hungry.” 

“Hush Rabastan! You know how cross Master gets when we deprive him of his game,” the first one said. 

“But I want to crunch their little bones, Barty!” the large one—Rabastan—whined. 

“They’re not actually going to _ eat _ us are they?” Malfoy said in a strangled whisper. 

“Among other things, all unpleasant,” Riddle murmured under his breath. 

“Wasn’t asking _ you _, traitor!” Malfoy hissed. 

“But you _ did _ ask,” Riddle pointed out. 

“You said you didn’t know what they did to people!” Harry accused, never taking his eyes off the Hunters encircling them. 

“I never said I didn’t _ know _ , Harry. I said ‘ _ no one who’s been caught has ever returned _,’ and speculated on various outcomes, as I wasn’t sure which it would be this time.” 

That brought another bout of manic laughter from the Hunters.

“Why don’t you just go join them, then?” Harry snarled. “Since they’re obviously your friends!” 

“I meant it when I said there’d been a change of plans,” Riddle said, raking his free hand through his mussed-up hair. His wand remained pointed at the Hunt. 

“And why should we believe you?” Ron demanded. 

“Well, your options are rather limited right now, aren’t they?” Riddle replied. 

“Enough chittering and chattering, little Mortal mice!” Bella said. “And you, Tommy, since you dare to wave that little stick at us and stand with the prey, then prey you shall be too!” Then she turned to the rest of the Hunt. “We will bind them and bring them back to the Master’s castle!” 

With that, she clapped her hands together and a shimmering golden rope appeared between her palms when she pulled them apart. Five more Hunters did the same, and began to converge on them. 

Harry, finally able to do more than stand there like he’d been Petrified, flicked his wand. 

“Stupefy!” 

The jet of red light flew straight to one of the Hunters, but before it could hit, the Hunter next to his target reached out and snatched the spell from midair. 

They held it in their fist and seemed to study it as tendrils of crackling red lightning crawled over their fingers. The red light illuminated the ghastly features of the silver mask. They brought their hand to their face and lifted the bottom of their mask just a bit. Before Harry could even process what was happening, the Hunter slurped the spell up like spaghetti. 

Harry blinked. “Well. That’s...different.” 

At that moment, Hermione pointed her wand at the ground in front of her. “Bombarda!” 

The mossy loam of the forest floor exploded upwards, sending Hunters and Hounds alike scrambling. Bits of dirt and twig rained down upon everyone. The half of the Hunt that had not been affected by Hermione’s spell rushed forwards, breaking formation. 

Everything happened so quickly it was hard for Harry to keep track of it all. Spells started flying. The magic bounced off the Hounds, crackling along their shaggy fur. The Hunters swatted away even the strongest curses as if they were no more bothersome than gnats. 

Harry heard Malfoy shout and Parkinson scream, but couldn’t see what was happening in the chaos. 

He took a page from Hermione’s book and threw a Reducto at the dirt beneath one of the Hunters bearing down on him. But the Hunter’s steed was ready this time, and flapped its leathery wings, lifting off the ground. Earthy-scented air buffeted Harry’s face, and he dodged away from the creature’s wickedly sharp-looking hooves as they lashed out at his head. 

He stumbled backwards and fell onto a rotted log, which gave way with a sickening, wet crunch and a cloud of musty spores. His back hit the forest floor and his wand flew from his hand. 

“Shit. Lumos!” 

A light appeared to his left, and he started to roll over, only to be stopped by a gigantic black paw on his chest. 

Harry peered up through dirt-smudged glasses to see the red eyes of a Hound gazing down on him, its lips were pulled back from its teeth and frothy drool dripped onto his face. 

“Ah. Fuck.” 

The Hound lunged at the same time Harry did something incredibly stupid. He grasped the Hound’s jaws and tried to keep them pried apart. 

The Hound’s hot, putrid breath nearly made him gag, and its sharp fangs cut into the flesh of his hands. Blood and frothy drool dripped down on Harry’s face, and dirtied his glasses even further, but he grimly hung on. 

There was a shout from somewhere above him. 

“Harry!” 

Suddenly the Hound gave a large yelp and scrambled away. 

Ron stood over him, pale and dirt-smeared. Incongruously, he was clutching something that looked like a smoking horseshoe. 

“Are you alright? Oh shit you’re bleeding! I hope that bites from those dogs aren’t like werewolf bites!” Ron babbled. There was blood running down the side of his face. 

“Ron, mate. Shut up and get me my wand.” 

“Oh right.” 

Harry cast a rudimentary healing charm on his hands and called it good enough. He looked around for the others. He spotted Hermione several yards to his right. She was standing guard over the prone forms of Malfoy and Parkinson, conjuring birds to attack the Hounds whenever they got too close. 

Riddle was a few feet to his left, and had summoned dozens of what looked, oddly, like steak knives. They hovered around him in a flashing, razor sharp orbit. As Harry watched, one of the Hounds tried to get beyond the knife shield and yelped when a knife cut into its muzzle. 

Harry looked to Ron, who was crouched next to him, holding the horseshoe in front of them like a protective talisman. 

Before he could even ask what the horseshoe was for, the hunting horn sounded again, freezing them all in place. 

“Enough of this!” Bella shrieked. 

She raised her hands. Thin filaments of what looked like white silk ribbons shot up from the shattered bits of rotted log that were strewn about the battlefield. The white ribbons wrapped around Harry’s feet, and where they touched, it was as if needles of ice were piercing his skin. 

The more Harry struggled against the icy ribbons, the faster they grew. A quick glance around showed that everyone else was in the same situation, even Riddle. The ice ribbons closed around each of Riddle’s conjured knives and shattered them. 

“I’d suggest not letting the Ice Wool reach your heart,” Riddle said. 

“The what?” Harry shouted. 

Riddle had his wand trained on the icy silk and was melting it as fast as it climbed his legs. Harry and Ron both turned their wands to the ice filaments and muttered warming charms, but it was growing too quickly. 

The Hunters had once again formed into a ring of shadow, circling around them and blending together until they appeared like a solid wall of darkness. 

Ron brandished his horseshoe, but the Hunters only laughed. The ice had reached Harry’s knees.

Then, a warm breeze swept through the forest, bringing with it the scents of roses and lavender. 

The Hunters paused in their circling, mutters of confusion replaced the laughter. Harry caught a glimpse of Riddle who looked just as puzzled. 

A silvery white doe burst through the undergrowth and leapt over the Hunt, landing right in front of Harry. She swept around, repelling Hounds and Hunters alike with her light. Where she passed, more rose-and-lavender followed, bringing to mind gentle breezes on warm summer nights. It smelled like some of his earliest memories...

The Hunters started gagging as if it were sulfur instead of flowers. The Hounds whined, turned tail and ran; the Hunters followed soon after.

The warm breeze melted the ribbony-ice—the Ice Wool—and left Harry feeling calm and serene. 

The doe made one last lap around them, as if to see they were all okay. She paused in front of Harry, staring at him with her large, dark eyes for just a moment. There was something very familiar about her. He took a step forward, and then another. But just before Harry was close enough to touch her, she turned and bounded off into the trees, taking the silvery light and warm breeze with her. 

“Wait!” Harry shouted.

But the doe had already gone. 

He stood there, staring into the woods where she’d disappeared, as if he could will her to return. 

“Mum?” he whispered. 


End file.
